One more time and you'll be dead

[lastdecember]

Who: Wolfwood and YOU!
What: January catch-all, for event and non-event shenanigans
When: All through the month
Where: Milton and the surrounding environs

Warnings: Nothing yet; will update! See also warnings for individual comments in subject headers



locked to Astarion

He wakes up warm.

It doesn't register at first, as he's still shaking off the traces of the dream. They're always bad, his dreams, always full of blood and screaming, but since he's come here to Milton, they've been different. Stranger. They're not always memories anymore, not just visions of things he's done, things he's endured, things he's stood back and let happen to others. No, Milton's fucking with his head in more ways than one, and he has to say, if his dreams continue being odd horror movies instead of memories? He'll take it. He'll take it all the way to the bank.

There was a woman in this one, he thinks, trying to recall the details as he dresses for the day. A familiar woman, although he can't recall her face, or her name. She'd asked for his help, was that it? And then he'd been somewhere else, and there'd been a fire. He shivers a little, pulling on his boots. That part, he remembers. Nothing hurts like being burned.

But he's awoken without a scratch on him, and for the first time since he'd arrived in this frozen hellhole, he felt toasty. Not hot, not by a long shot -- this world will never be a desert with two suns -- but pleasantly warm. Warm enough that he lets his scarf hang from his shoulders instead of knotting it tight around his throat. Warm enough that he leaves his gloves in his coat pocket, and even the brisk air outside doesn't have him fumbling to put them back on.

He's warm.

Today's already shaping up to be a great day, he can feel it!


--------------------------------

locked to Raju

A few days after the aurora, when the sky clears and all the electronics have died back to useless hunks of metal and wire, Wolfwood's heading out into a nearby grove of trees to collect firewood. The idea of burning wood for heat is still tough to wrap his head around -- the idea of having trees around to begin with is strange! -- but it burns warmly, the smoke's not unpleasant compared to some things he's burned for heat before, and there's sure plenty of trees around.

The ax sits comfortably in his palm, and the thud when the head bites out a chunk of an aspen's leafless trunk is deeply satisfying. Two or three of these big boys, and he'll have enough wood for the week, and plenty to share around!

--------------------------------

locked to Goodsir


His wrist's been throbbing for three weeks, and he's finally had enough. Normally something this small wouldn't be worth the effort to even notice it -- sure, his wrist is broken, but not badly. It's just one little bone, as far as he can tell, and it's not stopping him from going about his day, not really. He can still do all the chores needed to stay alive in this miserable cold wasteland, can still feed and dress himself, can still shoot (not that he's wasting bullets to test that theory, mind)... but it hurts. It hurts when he rolls over on it in the night, it hurts when he swings an ax or lifts a heavy load of lumber, it hurts when he presses on it to push himself out of bed in the morning. Vash had wrapped it that first day, and Wolfwood had rewrapped it a time or too, but a snug scrap of sheeting wasn't doing anything for the ache.

He's tired of aching.

So a little before noon he's stomping his way across town to the address posted on the flyer, to track down an H.D.S. Goodsir, assistant surgeon, and to figure out why, after almost a month, his damn broken bone still hurts.


--------------------------------

locked to Ruby

The aurora's passed, the days are light again -- or as light as they ever get in this dim, miserable place -- and Wolfwood's running out of things to do. He's tried hunting, but he's only got so many bullets left and he'd rather save them for a fight. He's tried collecting firewood, but that only keeps him busy for so many hours during the day. The house he's moved into isn't in very good repair, but with a broken wrist and less strength than he's used to, going up on the roof to fix all those leaks seems like a good way to kill himself. (It's still on his list of things to do, just maybe after he finishes healing).

So that leaves security. There's no fence around the town, no watchtowers, nothing to stop something like that serpent from sliding itself right up Main street and eating half the town. If they're going to be stuck here for the time being, they need to have better security than just trusting in the cold to keep intruders out.

It's not long after dawn that he sets out, walking the perimeter of the town and making mental note of what the surrounding environment looks like. It'll take a lot to make this place secure, but every little bit'll help.


--------------------------------

locked to Bigby

He's started seeing it in the daytime. It follows him through town, peers through his windows at night, hovers just past his shoulder. He's wasted three bullets on the thing already, plugging slugs into the walls of his room when he wakes in the night, already sweating from a nightmare, to find his own ghost watching him from the foot of his bed.

He doesn't know what it wants -- it won't answer him, not when he threatens it and not when he pleads with it -- but after a couple of days, he thinks he's figured it out. Vash said that people here had seen ghosts, which Wolfwood had assumed meant the ghosts that they'd killed. He's been waiting to see familiar faces, honestly, some of the dozens (maybe hundreds?) of people he's gunned down over the years, but the only ghost that's haunting him is his own.

Because he got himself killed, didn't he? He knew what was waiting for him in December, knew that he'd need help to win that fight, and he'd gone alone anyway. He'd killed himself through his own stupidity, and now the ghost of that dead man wanted its revenge.

That's okay, he thinks, stumbling down the street in the middle of the night, hunched over against the cold. He's hurt so many people over the years -- if this is how they're taking their vengeance, then they're welcome to it. He deserves this torment.

--------------------------------

Locked to Knives:

The houses have been pretty well picked over by the time Wolfwood gets to them. It’s not surprising – none of them have shown up here ready for the cold, and those first few people didn’t have anyone but the old man here to help them out. The warm clothes are missing, as are all of the tinned goods in the cupboards. He hasn’t found a house yet that has so much as a handgun, although there’s been a few where it’s clear a gun had been there once. People have been pretty thorough in their resource collecting.

But Wolfwood’s not here for food or socks. He’s got a sturdy satchel over one shoulder that clinks quietly as he moves, and he’s found a crowbar that now hangs from his belt that he’s been using to break into any houses where the front door is still locked. It’s harder than it should be, to break into a house without messing up the doorframe too much – future visitors might need to take shelter in these houses, he knows, so he’s doing what he can to keep them in good condition.

He wedges the end of the crowbar between the door and the frame right at the lock point and leans his weight into the bar, listening to the wood groan. He’s getting better at this – if he does it right, the frame will only splinter right where the latch is, and the door will still be usable. It takes time, though. Everything takes time, now that he’s weak like a normal man.


--------------------------------

locked to Vash
It's been a month, and he's almost used to the sight of snow instead of sand, of gleaming, blindingwhite instead of the reds and oranges and dazzling golds of the desert. Almost. He's almost used to the dark, the dim single sun not ever putting out enough heat to warm his bones, almost used to the short days and long, cold nights. Almost.

The sight of water bubbling up from between the rocks, though, is almost too much to accept. It's so much water – and it's hot water, too – he can see the steam rising up past the horizon before the water even comes into view.

He'd been picturing a kind of bath, but out in the open... and he hadn't been all that sure how he felt about the invitation, to be totally honest. He'd come along, mostly drawn by his begruding willingness to do whatever Vash suggests, but his expectations hadn't been high. And he's never been so happy to be wrong! This place is something out of a dream. It's bigger than he thought it'd be, and both weird and strangely familiar.

His pace speeds up as they approach the edge of the pool, not bothering to hide his enthusiasm. “This place just gets stranger by the day. Are you seeing this?” Of course he's seen it, Wolfwood knows, but it's just so... so weird. That's a whole canyon, but it's full of hot water! There's been so much new in this month – the climate here is so wet, he's taking ages to heal, he's weak and tired all the time, problems are bigger when he can't just shoot his way into a solution... but he can smell the heat of that pool from here, and he can't wait to duck beneath the surface.

He looks around for anyone else in sight, but the place is empty of people, and so he's already reaching for the zipper on his jacket as he turns to Vash with a laugh: “We can just get in, right?”


Wildcard:
Got another idea? Hit me up on notJoe or on the plotting post and let's plot!

Comments

[pale_elf]

He woke up hungry.

Astarion managedd to survive for half of the month hunting in the woods and draining critters, no matter the cold. He drank the blood, his dog ate the meat, they both managed to go on with the vampire hiding his nature and only acting as his pompous self around the people of Milton. Let them believe you're not dangerous, he told himself, let them believe you're nothing more than a pompous nobleman, he repeated in his mind as he kept up his act. Necks were tempting, the warmth of other people invited him closer, but at the same time he kept himself in check.

The hunger he felt after waking up made him almost forget of the dream, traces of the woman's voice barely lingering, and he found himself pushing Scratch away from the bed because he knew he was going to bite the dog otherwise. He had to feed. And before really thinking, he moved toward Milton instead of walking toward the woods, his brain telling him that most animals were hiding at the moment, with the sun up in the sky, but most of his favorite prey were out there in the city.

Instinct pushed him in the little village, but his rational side kept him from attacking anyone out there in the streets, especially considering most humanoids in Milton moved in packs. He heard Scratch whine at his side, but the vampire's attention remained on the various people moving around. He had... to approach someone on their own, someone with a relatively exposed neck. He licked his lips before spotting the dangerous predator he met at the Community Hall, everything in him screamed 'terrible idea', yet he found himself walking toward the Cleric.

"Good day!" He managed to sound happy and careless despite the screaming empty pit in his stomach "So, priest of a generic good, are you enjoying your time in this lovely little... ah... quaint little village?"

He smiled, wrapped in his stupid bright blue coat and with his neck protected by a bright pink scarf, while his dog moved to sit at his side, silently telling him 'no' and being mostly ignored.

[load_aim_shoot]

The past week has been... well, just as strange as the rest of it. It almost feels better when the bizarre, the unexplainable is happening, when he can only react, instead of happened, when he has to think and figure out and fail to figure anything at all, and force himself out into the cold in hopes of finding a way to try to stop thinking.

At least the cold hasn't been so punishing as it usually is. And at least he can see the sun. So little to be grateful for, he thinks, looking down at the one glove he's kept on, running his fingers slowly over it. But that seems to magnify what is there, makes that little larger than it would otherwise be. The sunlight isn't bright, hasn't been a single day he's been here, but after three days of losing it it's here, isn't night any more, and it's just close enough to warm that he can keep one glove off for a while, have one hand that can grasp the way it should. It isn't much, but it's here.

He'd even been able, after a while, to find a spare axe when the one he usually uses was gone. Frustrating to have to, but he'd found one in the end, and he has it now. Finding firewood is the closest to a tiring thing which needs doing, and it always needs to be done. Raju supposes he's grateful for it.

Grateful, but still curious. Especially when he's still gathering up the smaller sticks and little dead branches, the less interesting part that's best to get done first, before he starts really needing the harder work of splitting to help keep him warmer against the cold. He hears the thud, follows the noise until he can see who's making it and stands there a moment, watching.

For all he doesn't know about surviving here, he knows how to find firewood, how to use it. And what he doesn't know about burning the different kinds of trees in this part of the world, he's had enough chances to learn a little.

"Haven't done this much before?" he asks mildly, smiling a little. "Or only trying to keep busy?"

[bestsir]

Harry Goodsir is at home and at this point, has acquired something of a "this might as well happen" attitude to nearly everything that comes his way in Milton. A broken wrist is hardly the weirdest thing that's come his way.

[lastdecember]

He feels so good being finally warm that not even the obnoxious judge -- sorry, magistrate -- can bring his mood down.

"I've been stuck worse places" he nods affably, rocking back a bit on his heels. For years he'd carried a heavy weight on his back -- a literal weight, not a metaphorical one -- and now that it's gone he feels like something's missing. His shoulders don't set quite right, and he keeps wanting to reach up behind him and find that familiar burden again. Stuffing his hands in his pockets helps, a little.

"Although the neighbors leave somethin' to be desired."

[lastdecember]

The green wood doesn't split as readily as he'd like -- and his still-healing broken wrist doesn't help matters -- but he finds a rhythm quickly enough, hacking away at the sturdy tree trunk. The fresh wood sticks to the ax head, the green weeping cut catches the blade every couple of swings, but he wasn't raised to be a quitter. There's so much wood being burned in town that others have to be doing this on a regular basis, and if they can do it, so can he.

He hears snow and twigs crunching underfoot as the other man approaches but doesn't stop his efforts. He's probably just here to collect wood himself, Wolfwood thinks, glancing over briefly to confirm that the visitor isn't striding up with a weapon in hand. Just another wood collector with an ax? That's fine.

His comments, though? Not fine. Wolfwood slams the blade into the trunk of the tree hard enough that it stays, and turns to regard his visitor with a deeply disdainful look.

"Oi. I suppose you can do better?"

[lastdecember]

It's not until he's at the door and knocking that he realizes -- he doesn't have any money on him. He's mostly been keeping to himself these past few weeks, collecting his own firewood and eating with a friend from home, and he's got no idea if people here have started charging for their services.

Well, he shrugs, grinding out his cigarette, guess he's about to find out.

"Oi, good morning! I'm lookin' for the doctor."

[load_aim_shoot]

The stranger’s axe slams against the trunk of the tree and Raju’s eyebrows go up, smile growing. Then the stranger follows up that hint of a threat with a challenge, and Raju’s smile grows more. There’s a way to meet this kind of thing, automatic now: a smile which says it’s funny that the question even needed to be asked, a leisurely posture against a nearby tree, arm against it, hand on hip, one ankle crossed over the other as if the blanket tied around him and the too-often worn, too-often washed trousers are a fine suit and the other man is dressed in rags. A tone which says the same, paired with words which might seem deferential if the man in front of him tried to relay them to anyone else.

Not that he has to worry about that, he supposes, in this odd place. But there’s no reason to change what works.

And no reason to change what’s fun.

“Oh. Do you think I could? With these little sticks?” He hefts the little bundle held in the crook of one elbow and tilts his head, corners of his eyes crinkling. “Who knows?”

Raju knows. The smile in his eyes as he nods toward the tree holding that axe says the other man surely knows it, too. The thumb of his gloved hand taps rapidly, happily against his gathered kindling. “How much were you planning on cutting? The whole tree?”

[bestsir]

Goodsir opens the door and stands aside to admit his new guest.

"I am Harry Goodsir. How can I help?"

[lastdecember]

The arrogant posturing doesn't go unnoticed, no. Neither does that mocking smirk. I'm so much better than you, says the twinkle in the asshole's eye. Even though I've only got an armful of trash I picked up off the ground.

"Yeah," he replies, and it's more of a snarl than he intended, but fuck it. This guy's been here five seconds and already he's getting on every one of Wolfwood's nerves. "I'm cuttin' the whole damn tree. You an' your little sticks got a problem with that?"

[lastdecember]

"Just a broken wrist," Wolfwood explains, stomping the snow off his boots and heading inside into the warmth. He plucks off one of his gloves and holds his hand up for the doctor to see -- he's not treating his wrist like it hurts, but it sure looks damaged. It's red and swollen, too warm to the touch, and there's fresh bruising beneath his thumb.

"It got broken two, three weeks ago," he says, tucking that loose glove into his pocket. "I can't figure out why it's still like this."

[bestsir]

"Two or three weeks?" What the blazes is it with these men who can't look after themselves? Heads full of peat moss, as his father would say. "Did you bandage or splint it?"

[lastdecember]

Well, at least the disbelief in the doctor's voice makes it clear that he's been doing something wrong... but for the life of him he can't figure out what.

"Of course! I'm not an idiot," he grumbles. "I wrapped it up right after it happened, nice and snug, and left it wrapped up for two whole days." And then the wrapping got wet so he had to take it off and just, you know. Never bothered wrapping it up again.

"I can use it, it just hurts."

[load_aim_shoot]

“Not at all,” Raju says as easily as if this were any friendly conversation, sounding pleased. He is pleased. This, unlike anything else about this place, Raju understands. This is easy. It’s a different game from the usual one, though; a move passed only between the two of them isn’t the same as a move made for an audience. The goal is different, and a man embarrassed in front of all his peers will act differently from one with no one around to see.

Still. Raju’s mind isn’t fixed on trying to unravel this impossible, infuriating place now. And it is, so far, very easy. That makes him want to bite down harder.

“Only wondering,” he goes on, chin tilting back as his gaze moves from the axe up to the height of the tree, still smiling. “It’ll be wonderful exercise, if that’s what you’re out here looking for.”

This one should hit too, he thinks. If exercise was the point here, Raju’s first question wouldn’t have gotten to the stranger the way it had. He isn’t ‘only trying to keep busy’, he’s here for firewood. So even if Raju hadn’t come across him now, he’d be in for some frustration anyway. Not that the tree he’s cutting couldn’t go to use with enough time, but would anyone this easy to rile up be patient enough for that? If this keeps going the way it is, maybe Raju will find out.

[lastdecember]

Wonderful exercise.

"How about you come a little closer, and we can see how wonderful you feel with an ax stickin' out of your head."

Is he really so bored that he's out picking a fight with the poor bastards trying to stay warm? Well, if that's what he wants, Wolfwood'll give it to him. He might not know how to cut down a tree, but he's sure he could break this guy into six even pieces, if given the chance.

(Not that he would. Even if he hadn't given up on killing, he wouldn't murder a guy just for being a dick. But give the guy a pair of black eyes to go with that smirk? That's a service he'd be happy to provide!)

Wolfwood wrenches the ax head out of the tree and slams it home again, dislodging a pathetically small curl of very green wood. "If you can do better let's see it. Otherwise you can fuck off."

[load_aim_shoot]

Raju's free hand moves into his pocket. His gaze moves down again, smile aiming itself at the stranger's face. "What about a contest?" It's the risk, as well as the ease, which makes this so much better than ignoring the stranger's bad temper and walking on would have been. But a competition would be something else again. He hasn't had the chance to really prove himself in too long. As long as he's been here. Here, there's nothing to prove himself to, or against; the wrongness in the build of the cars and the pens and the broken machines, the damned dreams, and then the... everything. With no way to explain any of it, there's nothing that he can do. But he can do this.

"We take an hour, find whatever we can. Then come back here, and find out who can get a fire started first." That would be the easiest way to win, for Raju. Speed. It isn't impossible that the stranger might find a dead tree and use that instead, if he gives up on using this one, but it's worth betting that he wouldn't know how to start a fire even if his wood was dry enough to do it. If he's one of the newer arrivals he might not have seen it done, especially since anyone in the Community Hall makes sure its fire never even goes out.

Not that Raju's ever done anything but shepherd an ember from that fireplace to one in the nearest empty building, whenever he's needed to start his own. And using the limited supply of matches just to win isn't worth it, no matter how much he might want to. But if he could use that dream, what happened after—

Raju cuts the thought off before it can form, to keep the smile on his face. The dreams don't matter. So he doesn't have what he'd use, at home, to get a fire started, better fuel than the stranger's gathered or not; when the moment comes, he'll figure it out.

[lastdecember]

[ until he arrived here, Wolfwood's idea of starting a fire involved using a cigarette lighter to catch the wick on a campstove, easy as lighting a candle. He got the fire started in the house he's living in now, but it took every piece of paper he could find in the place, and three of the precious matches in the little tin rattling in his coat pocket next to his nearly empty pack of cigarettes. He's not good at starting fires here -- this isn't a challenge he can win.

But does that matter? He'd be out here for another hour hacking away at this tree as it is -- only difference is, he'll get to watch somebody who maybe knows what they're doing start a fire at the end of that hour. His ego can handle that.

And, he figures, sinking the ax head back into the tree and wiping the first of the sweat from his brow, if the guy turns out to be a sore winner, he can always still deliver that black eye. ]

Fine. [ The bragging is going to be awful, isn't it? This guy's definitely going to be a sore winner. ] But if you show up with a can of gas to cheat with, I'm gonna make you drink it.

[load_aim_shoot]

Thoughts of that dream fade again, and Raju's smile deepens. "Fair enough," he says, as if the idea of needing that kind of help is a funny one. That's the way of these things: action will suit itself to word, even if he isn't certain how yet. He knows the theory, what he's supposed to do to make a spark, and make it grow. He wonders if the threat applies to flint and steel, too. He might be able to find it some place, but if these abandoned houses are as picked clean as he thinks they might be, it could take the full hour.

He'll keep it in mind. For now he's quiet for a moment, foot jittering, as if he's waiting for something.

"Head start?" he asks, looking over the whole tree, then at the progress the stranger's made in chopping it. "I can wait here for a moment, if you like. It seems like all that is going to take a while."

This, to a man who's started threatening him already. Maybe Raju wouldn't have back home, at least not that last part, because what would be friendly to someone who likes him might end all this early, said to a stranger with an uncertain temper. But saying it feels right. And it feels good to smile.

[lastdecember]

This time, when the ax head thunks into the trunk and sticks, Wolfwood leaves it there. Quicker than a man of his size should be able to move, he snatches a chunk of branch off the ground and flings it hard in Raju's direction, aimed to smash into the tree the asshole's leaning against.

"Timer's started," he calls, taking the ax in hand again. One hour won't be long enough to get this tree down and he's beginning to realize that, but he'll make it work. There's some broken off branches on the ground he can use, he figures, not realizing that they're soft and rotten, and then if he works hard, maybe he'll get this whole damn tree down too. Wouldn't it be great to see the asshole's face when he comes back in an hour to see Wolfwood's prize! "You just gonna stand there the whole hour?"

[bigbaddy]

Though Bigby - luckily - seems to have been spared the same fate as others who have been dealing with the odd phantom visitors, it's not like he isn't out of bed late at night too. Some nights it's just not easy to sleep, and patrolling the town makes him feel a little better. Like he's at least been productive enough to deserve some sleep.

Most of the time there isn't really anyone out this late, but..

.. well, seems like tonight is different. It's really hard to not notice the odd hunched over figure in the distance. At first Bigby does wonder if it's some sort of monster, considering the odd beings that pop up here from time to time, but the closer he gets, the more he realises it's a person.

A person who doesn't exactly look like they're having the best time right now.

It makes Bigby frown as he approaches, calling out before further stepping towards Wolfwood.

"Hey! What's wrong?"

[lastdecember]

He just needs to get out of town. Wolfwood stumbles over his own feet in the cold, his limbs not working right, but his goal never wavers -- he has to get out of town before Vash finds him. Nobody else here knows him, not really. Nobody else here will care one way or the other what happens to him, but if Vash finds out about his ghost, then the idiot will be sad. He's already made Vash sad enough for three lifetimes with his mistakes and stupidity and refusal to stop killing. He won't be the reason for his friend's suffering again -- not this time. It'll be better for everyone when he's gone.

But it's slow going. The streets are well trod by now, but the snow is still slippery underfoot, and the nighttime temperatures drop down so far that Wolfwood's skin aches from it. He has to keep his eyes half-closed so they don't feel like they're going to freeze in his head, and so he doesn't see the other man approaching at first. He can hear him, though, hear his boots crunching in the snow, and Wolfwood lifts his head as Bigby approaches, peering at him through narrowed eyes.

Nobody he knows. That's all right, then.

He doesn't bother to respond -- who knows if the man's even real? -- instead just turning back to the road, trudging ever forward, one uncertain step at a time.

[guidemyway]

Wolfwood luckily wasn't the only person with the safety of the town in mind. Ruby knew that herself and a handful of other people tended to stay up and do watches or patrols. It's the first time around that she's seen Wolfwood out doing a walk around the perimeter of the town. But it was a welcome sight after seeing him so frigid when he first got here.

She's managed to perch herself up on a tree branch and she has her weapon in it's rifle form sitting on her lap. It hadn't worked as a gun since she got here, but the scope was still working.

She raised a hand up and waved to Wolfwood as he drew closer. She's not exactly hidden while wearing mostly red, so she sticks out like a sore thumb.]

Hey! What's up?

[load_aim_shoot]

The stranger's quick. And so is Raju, whose hand is out of his pocket and holding the chunk of wood before it can hit anything. He can't say he wasn't asking for another burst of temper, and though it came faster than he was expecting, getting it doesn't make his smile dim at all. He only tucks the damp wood under his arm along with his dry branches with a nod, as thanking the stranger for the gift.

"I'll meet you back here," he responds, and makes his way idly away, toward the town. Find stone and steel, that's the way. Extra wood after, if he has the time. Once he's decided he's probably out of the stranger's view, he walks more quickly.

He hadn't had his pocket watch on him when he'd ended up here; he tries to keep up with the time anyway. Most of it goes to finding a rusting hammer head, then a likely looking piece of quartz. He spends time after that shaving down a few of his smaller branches, taking the blanket off so the shavings will fall into the pocket he's sewn into it. He's shivering a little by the time he puts it back on, but that doesn't matter, because this is going to work.

He isn't sure how close the hour is to being over when he makes his way back; he's cut gathering more wood shorter than he normally would to be sure that he'll be in time. He doesn't need the fire to last long, anyway. His skin is a little redder when he does over his nose and cheeks, and a close look will see him still shivering just a little, but Raju hasn't paid any of that any mind. His posture is confident, of course, and his expression's curious: What really matters is how the other man's been doing.

[bestsir]

Goodsir pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

"You may need a month, or more, and you must keep it immobilised," he says. "I'll splint it for you, but you must leave it be for four weeks, at the very least. Perhaps more."

[bigbaddy]

God. This just had to get harder than it had to be, right? God forbid someone ever make something easy on him. Imagine if someone would just give him a normal answer, realise they're out too late and go back to their cabin! Imagine if Bigby is having an easy night for once.

Granted, he could make this night easier on himself by deciding to ignore this entire thing and just go back to bed himself, leaving the other to wander around if he so badly wants to do so, but Bigby isn't the type to do that. He just feels a little bit too responsible.

Which is why he instead steps forward, quickening his pace a little bit to try and catch up with the weirdly shambling figure.

"Hey! I was talking to you!"

.. okay, maybe it's not the nicest or most gentle way to approach someone, but.. gentle isn't exactly Bigby's speciality..

"Where the hell are you going at this time of night?!"

[lastdecember]

She's wearing red and sitting in a sniper post with a gun. He definitely spots her, from quite a ways back, although it's not until he's nearly underneath her lookout spot that he recognizes her as the girl who helped him into town that miserable first day. He raises a gloved hand in reply.

"Yo."

He turns as he greets her, looking out into the distance to try and see what she's up there watching for. She's awfully visible to be on watch, so is there something out there that she's keeping an eye on?

"What're you doing?"